B is for...

Fat Chick version

B is for Bread - I really don't miss much foodwise from my pre-op life. I never really ate desserts. A piece of pie from Julian Pie Company once a year when I drove up to our local mountains and cookies when I felt like breaking out the Kitchen Aid Stand Mixer and getting all Martha Stewart at Christmas time. The last birthday cake I had was when I was 7. I wasn't into them. I always wanted giant pizzas or something else savory. So I've never really lamented the loss of sweets like some RNY-ers do. I do however miss my evil nemesis Bread. Most days I don't. I eat a variety of yummy dishes and it doesn't cross my mind but every once and awhile I think about my old frenemy. Now I'm not talking about those wishy washy sponges that come sliced in a polka dotted bag although a fluffernutter is best made with that. I am talking crusty and crispy on the outside, soft and fluffy on the inside homemade or artisanal breads. I was not to be trusted around bread like this... turn away and 1/2 a loaf might be gone. Who needed butter? I often ate 1/2 the loaf driving from the bake shop. Bread was what I wanted when I didn't feel well. Bread was what I wanted when I had a rough day. Hell bread was what I wanted when I had a great day too. Who am I kidding?

I dedicate half my ass to you dear bread. I had to say goodbye to you because like an alcoholic going to a winery what's the point?

Post Gastric Bypass version

B is for Booth - It was an unbelievably awesome feeling the first time post gastric bypass surgery when I slid into a restaurant booth seat. I looked down and there was so much room between me and the table. I sat in awe with a stupid grin plastered over my face the entire meal. Before surgery I used to cringe going out with a group of people when the hostess guided us to a booth seat I would hang back so I could be the last to sit down (and hang off the edge) because sliding down to let others in (if even possible) wasn't going to be pretty or fast. I didn't want to call attention to myself by requesting the group get a table. Like if I didn't say anything no one would see I was fat. Yeah... the fantasy world we create. Sometimes I would get lucky and it would be a movable table and I could give it a shove to gain some extra space but usually it was bolted and I would have a table shoved in my gut giving me the Heimlich maneuver my entire meal. Bolted tables suck.

I write this to always remember. Although I believe I will never forget there are just some things from my fat life are unfortunately seared into my memory... memories like this keep my head in the game and remind me to never go back.

If you are wondering what this entry is all about catch up here.


Inky said...

My "last restaurant meal" before surgery was at a lobster house. i could barely fit in the booth (no tables) and then a HUGE man sat in the booth behind me. I couldn't breath, let alone eat. we left with doggy bags. i never spoke up. still hate myself for it.

two weeks go, now 4 months out, i sat down at that restaurant and fit more than comfortably, even with someone sitting behind me.

for all the difficulty the first months after surgery have brought, nothing made me happier than sliding in (and out) of that booth.

i love your posts and have a mad crush on you now. lol. i am not a stalker though. i promise, lol.

Donna J said...

I remember the first time I went to a restaurant and I didn't fit in the booth. I was with friends who were taking me and my husband out as a farewell dinner because the military was moving us away from home. We were at Outback Steakhouse. It never occurred to me that I wouldn't fit in the booth until I became wedged, half in and half out of the seat, and couldn't get in or out for a few seconds.

Those were the most mortifying few minutes of my life and from that day on, if the restaurant we went to didn't have tables, we ate elsewhere.

It makes me feel slightly less of a freak to know that I'm not alone in that feeling. I'm 3 months out from surgery now and I can fit into a booth again (not a lot of room to spare, but that's coming). I will probably always have a small moment of panic any time I see a booth for the rest of my life, but I want to thank you for posting your story and showing me that I was not alone in my fears. I really thought I was.

I love reading your blog and your recipes, you have a sense of humor alot like mine. Thanks for posting so honestly and openly, and I'll look forward to reading more.

SuzShack said...

AW....Julian Apple Pie Co. and Autumn! They go together like peas and carrots!
I MISS Julian and it's apple pie. In fact...and I'm not lying...I have a cat who's name is Julian Apple Pie!
I was waiting outside the pie shop waiting for it to open, and a young girl had kittens she was giving away. There he was. This cute little black tuxedo kitten in a basket. I HAD to have him! And I did! He is now 9 years old and loving life in Washington!